


Breathe

by rpfwriters



Category: Actor RPF, American (US) Actor RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Brief Mention of Suicide, Depression, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Language, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 04:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17842757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rpfwriters/pseuds/rpfwriters
Summary: Jared helps reader with an anxiety attack.





	Breathe

There hadn’t been a moment that it didn’t feel like the air was too thick, the room too small, your mind racing a million miles an hour. Your anxiety was at DEFCON 1, had been all fucking week. All you wanted to do was take a xanax -or three- and, only when you could draw in a breath that didn’t make your chest hurt, go home and fall asleep. But you had forgotten your pills, and there was no way you could leave. Not for at least another ten hours. Not when you still had five pages of dialogue to shoot; three of which were arguing with Dean and Sam.

You had gone from guest star to series regular after the end of last season. You were happy, of course you were, but the anxiety you’d managed to keep to yourself since your first day a couple seasons back had exploded. Your doctor increased the dosage of your medication, but even then, it didn’t feel like enough.

Sweat was rolling down the nape of your neck, staining your collar, down your back, and between your breasts. The leather jacket was smothering, making your chest burn with every half-breath and shuddering exhale. You were on the verge of tears just thinking about having to shoot under the heat of the lights on set.

Before you knew it, someone yelled, “And we’re rolling.”

Jensen’s face went from playful to ‘Dean’ in record time. “The hell were you thinking, Y/C/N,” he yelled, his face contorting as anger took hold.

Tears sprung to your eyes, just like the script said. What the script didn’t say was for your tongue to fumble your lines. “I don’t… it’s not what-”

“Still rolling,” Bob murmured, hoping you’d remember your lines.

You shook your head and cleared your throat.  _You can do this. You **have**  to do this. No one fucking cares that you want to cry. No one cares that you’re having a bad day. They just want to finish the scene and move on._

“You think it was something I  _wanted_  to do?” you managed to choke out your line.

“Give me a break,” ‘Dean’ snapped, hitting a little too close to home. “You knew exactly what you were getting yourself into when you summoned Crowley.”

_Don’t break down now,_  you chastised yourself when your chin started quivering.

You raked a hand through your hair. “It’s not like before,” you murmured, eyes darting down to the floor.

Bob said your name loudly, yanking your attention away from your feet. “You’re pissed at Dean, not sad. Look at him!”

Your shoulders shook with the ragged breath you tried pulling in.  _Breathe. **Breathe, goddamn it.**  You can’t have a panic attack. Not now. Not here. They’ll fire you for pushing back production. Worse yet, they’ll pity you._

Jensen was in front of you, eyes wide with worry, hands reaching for you, saying… something that you couldn’t comprehend. Your vision was blurring, but it wasn’t from the tears, it was almost as if you were looking down a long tunnel.

Jared’s voice broke through the white noise in your head. “I need a break,” he announced, grabbing your hand, and pulling you off set, not waiting for an answer from anyone, just moving through the crowd and off the set, some predetermined destination in mind. You didn’t know where he was taking you, not that you cared; you just wanted to get off set, away from everyone’s prying eyes, their not-so-hushed questions and conversations about you, about what was  _wrong_  with you.

Jared pulled you into his trailer, locking the door behind him while you ripped off your jacket. “Too much, too hot,” you murmured between each gulp of air. You rotated your neck, stretched your shoulders and back, trying to rid your skin of the electricity sparking both under, and on top of your skin, not to mention the butterflies in your chest. “Too… much.”

“Breathe, Y/N,” Jared instructed gently. “You just gotta breathe.”

Hands dragging through your hair, you shook your head, and tried telling him that you couldn’t breathe, that whatever was happening was too strong, too much for you to overcome by some fucking breathing exercise. The look of pity on his face wasn’t helping things. He didn’t  _really_  want to help you. He just wanted you to get your shit together so he could go home and relax, so he didn’t have to be around you for longer than was necessary.

The room decided to start spinning, so you slammed your eyes closed and tried to focus on something other than Jared, on something other than the flurry of noise inside your head, through the roar of self-deprecating thoughts and negative images your depression was showing you, urging you to do  _to_ yourself.

That was when Jared grabbed your face and kissed you.

The act of intimacy cut through all of the chatter like a lighthouse during a storm. Your eyes flew open and found his, no pity to be seen swimming in the hazel orbs, flecks of green and gold swirling through.

You grabbed the lapels of his jacket and melted into him, not because your brain was quiet for the first time in months, but because you wanted to feel more of him,  _taste_  more of him, something that he obviously wanted as well.

Jared slanted his mouth over yours and teased your lips with his tongue, moaning low in his throat as you parted your lips, meeting his tongue with yours. With Jared’s arm around your waist, you pushed up to your toes, and scraped your nails along his neck and scalp. You’d have to try and remember that his chestnut strands were a happy stim, the way they felt against your skin, like silk, soothing, comforting, like you wanted to feel them on other body parts.

You were curled into him, your bodies fitting together like a puzzle, so perfect and made for each other. Jared pulled back, fingers digging into your curves, and panting when there was a knock on the door.

“Jare,” Jensen called. “You good, man?”

Jared brushed your nose with his and answered, “Yeah, all good.”

“And Y/N?” Jensen asked, genuine concern lacing his words.

You swallowed thickly and nodded. “All good.”


End file.
